“Cobie Calls Me Back”

I hadn’t expected Cobie to call me back, but she did. I had been perfectly willing to let a once-in-a-lifetime spanking opportunity remain just that. But it turns out she was serious about getting me back out there to help her get ready for her role as undercover cop. The scene I would be helping her with was one where her character is punished by a mob boss who whips her with a belt. Wanting it to be realistic, she would have me give her a number of actual strokes with a belt, so she would know, realistically, how it feels. I was more than happy to help her prepare.

I got the tickets via email/Internet link and was fortunate to be able to arrange to take a long weekend from work to fly out to the city where the shoot was taking place. I must say it’s rather a heady experience to get to travel for free to a cool city and stay in a nice hotel for the purposes of spanking a hot actress, especially when she’s depending on that happening for professional reasons. Needless to say, I was quite excited.

As was previously the case, she had rented a small house in an out of the way location for the sake of privacy. We sat down together for some coffee and caught up a bit before going to work on her session.

“Well,” she said, putting her coffee mug down on the table, “I’ve made a decision. I want you to give me 50 strokes with the belt.”

“Are you certain?” I asked. This wasn’t a decision to make lightly.

“Yep. I’m certain,” she said. “I thought a lot about it and I really do want to know what it would be like to get a real whipping with the belt. The scene calls for 32 on camera, but I think 50 or more is implied. I’m going to go into this, knowing what I’m doing.”

“I understand,” I said. “Are you tied down for this?”

“They have her tied down over the bed,” she said.

“I see,” I said. “Then let’s re-create that scene here.”

Cobie described how her characters wrists were roped together and the rope was tied to the head board. Her ankles would be tied together and tied to the foot board. I had her lie face down on the bed while I made a reasonable facsimile of the way her character would be tied up.

Once she was tied in place, I knelt down next to her face and asked, “I just want to be certain you want to do this. I’m not going to give you a warm up. It’s going to hurt like hell.”

She nodded and said, “Do it.”

“Remember your safe word is ‘safeword’,” I told her.

“I remember,” she said.

I picked up the heavy leather belt and doubled it over. I measured it’s length across her backside to make sure it wouldn’t wrap too much. I knew I had to remember that although she was tied up, she was likely, because of the pain, to do a lot of rocking from side to side in an unconscious and maybe uncontrollable effort to save her bottom.

I began whipping her with the belt, putting myself in the frame of mind of a man who was punishing this woman who had failed him in some way. This wasn’t torture. I wasn’t trying to get anything from her. It was just punishment – plain and simple. And it had to hurt, because I knew she was tough.

I lashed her with about a second between each stroke, giving her just enough time to suck in breath or yell “Ow!” or squeal or whatever she had to do to get through this. The soft material of her dress was no match for the heavy leather as it fell. I couldn’t see if I was bruising her, or rather how much I was bruising her, but I hadn’t wanted to freak her out by asking if I could pull up her dress. She did wiggle a lot, so I had to predict where I thought her butt would be as the belt came down. I didn’t want to wrap around to her hip and didn’t want to hit her between her legs. I was fairly certain that would spell the end of my actress-spanking career.

I watched the cheeks of her face get redder and redder though, as she became more and more overwhelmed by the pain. Her eyes were squinted and she was pouting as though she were about to cry by the time I got to 28 strokes. Her “Ow!”s became more like moans after point. The moans had a tone to them that almost sounded like pleading, but she never did plead with me. As tears began to roll down, she pounded her fists against the bed, determined to get through it.

For the last 10, I really wanted to coach her and say something encouraging like, “You’ve only got 10 more to get through. You can do it.”

But I resisted that, getting the feeling that she was putting herself into the scene and that the coaching would be an unwanted distraction.

After I gave her her 50th stroke, I began untying her, listening to her heavy breathing and feeling her body trembling. When her hands were untied, she wiped her tears away and then lay her head down. She looked wide-eyed and dazed. I finished untying her ankles and she curled up into almost a fetal position.

“Cobie, are you okay,” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, “just a little light-headed… dazed I guess.”

“That sounds like the endorphins,” I told her. “That’s natural. Just relax and I’ll get you some water.”

“That hurt so much,” she said sitting up. As she reached perpendicular, she winced as she put weight on her bottom.

“Is it true,” she asked, “that in some families, this is how they punish their kids?”

“I think it is, yes,” I said. “When I was growing up, I didn’t ever get whipped as severely as you did today, but some of my friends have told me that they got worse.”

“My god,” she said.

We sat together for a while, talking, as she came back down from the endorphin high. She expressed her gratitude for giving her the experience.

“I’m really glad I met you and that you took the risk of suggesting this. I get the feeling this will end up being an advantage for me in my career,” she said. “However, there is one issue we need to discuss.”

“Issue?” I asked. My mind started racing through the events of the day, wondering if there had been some line I had crossed, or something I failed to do or say, or some limit I had not observed…

“Apparently you wrote about our experience on your blog, and mentioned me by name,” she said.

Shit! I said, “Well, yes… I did, but I was thinking… I mean you said, suggested that no one would believe…”

“Nevermind that,” she said. “The point is that you didn’t ask me first. Now my agent and my lawyer is saying I should sue you or take some kind of legal action.”

“Well, I suppose I can understand that. But I don’t have any money…” I said.

“I thought that might be the case,” she said. “So here’s what I propose to you as an alternative. I think you need to be punished by me and write that up in your blog. That way either everyone does assume it’s all imagined or if they do believe you, they won’t assume I’m some kind of crazy masochist. They’ll see I’m not some gullible pushover. I’ll look out for myself.”

I took a moment to let it all sink in.

“Punish… Me?” I said, hardly believing the words were coming out of my mouth. “Are you suggesting…”

“Yes,” she said. “Why not? Do you think I shouldn’t whip you because I’m a woman and you’re a man?”

“No! Of course not. It’s just that…” I said, realizing my reason for not wanting it was because I was dominant and not into it. But that wasn’t the point here. She wasn’t “into it” either. Geez, logic…

“So you can choose. I let the lawyer come after you or you take 100 with the belt and write about on your blog,” she said.

“But I only gave you 50. Are you being sexist?” I challenged.

“It’s nothing to do with your gender. That’s just the number I want. Do you want to go for 150?” she shot back.

“Um… No. I’ll um… I’ll take the 100.”

“Good decision,” she said. “Now, take off your pants and lie down across the bed.”

I did so. I didn’t like this at all, but at least she let me keep my underwear on. I suppose it was equivalent to the thin dress material she had worn for her whipping.

It hadn’t occurred to me on such a visceral level how vulnerable my spankees might have felt when assuming their positions for punishment. Cobie proceeded to tie my wrists together and tie them to the head board in the same way I had done hers. Then she tied my ankles together and to the foot board. I was thinking, ‘Wow… Okay, I really can’t stop her now. She could give me however many lashes she wants to.’

At that point, besides the vulnerability, I was then painfully aware of the level of trust that had to be given to me a spanker, especially when I tied a woman up for it.

She picked up the belt and folded it over like I had. Then she brought it down hard against my bottom. I think the loudness of the slap surprised her. She paused a moment.

“Yeoww!” I said. “Geez you hit hard.”

‘Why do spankees like this?’ I wondered as she lashed me a second time.

By the sixth lash, number panic was starting to set in. I was soon about to have enough, but was nowhere near 100 strokes. But it was too late. I had made my choice.

When she’d given me 25 or so… I’m guessing because I’d started losing count… The pain was too much and I felt like I was about to cry. This presented a new dilemma. I didn’t want the embarrassment of crying in front of Cobie, but I somehow felt like crying would help me deal with the pain. Maybe it would make her feel sorry for me even…

But my pride won out for the time being. I bit the sheet under me and pounded the bed with my fists. I just grunted at each stroke as if I were working out with weights.

After what may have been about 70 or so strokes I began feeling the endorphins high. It wasn’t enough to stop me feeling punished. My butt was incredibly sore and was not being given any time to cool down. I looked over my shoulder at her. She had a look of both determination and an almost disbelieving wonderment – like she couldn’t believe she was doing this to someone, a man she hired.

Her cheeks were flushed again, but this time seemingly from… [Sentences removed by order of subject and her attorney ]

She finally stopped whipping me with that mean, heavy, mean belt and untied me. I see now why they usually just want to lie there for a while. I was both high and wanting comfort. She hadn’t been angry at me in the first place, so it was no effort for her to look after me while I recovered.

I hadn’t expected to, but it seems we started some kind of odd bond, of two people having gone through this kind of pain, which neither of us is into… With the added layer of having put each other through it.

I’m glad you found it challenging as well as hot. That’s a huge compliment for me as a writer. I would love to hear more about what was uncomfortable, what was challenging, and what you found hot. I love your commentary, Pandora.